


A Night Out With Benedict Cumberbatch

by LondonGypsy



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: DaddyBatch, F/M, Fluff, Mostly fluff though, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Sexy Times, Surprises, a little bit of angst, i dont know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot summer night in London and what happens after... <br/>(God, I am rubbish at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Out With Benedict Cumberbatch

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted (needed) some DaddyBatch so i went and wrote it.  
> None of this is true: it's all in my imagination so dont yell at me.  
> Benedict belongs only to himself as does Martin.

I can't take my eyes off of him; and neither can the rest of the club.

Everybody's more or less subtly -or not so subtly- staring at the sight of Benedict _Bloody_ Cumberbatch, dancing his well-formed arse off on the dance floor.

He doesn't know though, he's completely lost in the music and doesn't see the painfully greedy looks from every single female in the room. And I can see more than one male looking as well, either in envy or with the hidden desire every fangirl can spot in a heartbeat.

I take another sip of my drink and let my own gaze shamelessly roam over his body.

God, that man's too bloody gorgeous for his own good. His hair's a bit damp and so is every inch of skin I can see; it's a hot summer night and even hotter in here. His excessive dancing is only making him sweat more but he doesn't seem to care.

That errant curl is even more errant than usual tonight.

No suit, no jacket, he's incognito tonight – or so he hopes – and he's wearing tight, oh-so-tight jeans and the grey Brooklyn tee he seems wanting to wear until it falls off of his flawless torso.

You could hear the constricted buzz as he wandered in earlier that night. Even here, in London's hottest and hippest club, the sight of an A-Class celebrity wasn’t something you see every day.

He wasn’t alone, though and thanks to that, nobody dared to bother him. It is some sort of unspoken law, a secret code when seeing somebody famous out in public.

I grin into my drink; that's the Brits for you: rather yearn from afar before making a celebrity uncomfortable or them thinking you'd be rude.

Still, I can't take my eyes off of him; there's no law about watching, you know.

He's dancing like nobody's watching, eyes closed, that lean body in perfect sync with the music, hips swaying and a blissful smile on his lips.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the four girls, giggling, glancing over to him and obviously plotting something.

I sigh inwardly; I can spot a fangirl a mile off – hell, I’m one myself, we recognize each other, that's just how it works, and those four are up to nothing good.

They're not Londoners, I've overheard them chat with each other earlier, they're visiting for only a few days.

I'd been hoping they'd leave him alone but their reaction when he walked in was far too excited. They almost fell off their stools, gaping at him far too obviously and they’ve been chatting non-stop since.

Oh dear god, there we go, I think as I see how they empty their glasses and stand in unison before they head towards the dance floor.

It's kinda scary actually: they look like a mini-army, ready to tackle their subject to the ground.

Fascinated I watch as they start dancing closer and closer to Benedict, trying to be subtle about it; he has no bloody idea, poor sod.

The blonde one reaches him first, brushing oh-so-casually against his side.

His eyes open slowly, and even from the distance I can see that he's a tad bit tipsy and not entirely in the right headspace to deal with some rabid fans.

He smiles a polite and lazy smile at her, takes a step back to give her more space and keeps dancing, shutting the girls out again.

But they are like bloodhounds, not willing to let their prey escape that easily.

They close in on him again and this time it's the pretty brunette that makes contact with him, letting her hand run over his arm in an apologizing manner.

Again, he only smiles hazily, backing off once more, and I grin ruefully.

The poor man has no idea that he just outmaneuvered himself. He's with his back to a wall, the girls in front of him and no way out without having to push past them.

I can almost hear their thoughts, I can see their triumphant grins and eventually the blonde gathers the courage to talk to him.

Benedict looks at her, a vacant look on his face, a little frown on his forehead until he finally realizes what's happening.

His eyes go wide, just for a second before he regains his composure and gives them a loop-sided smile, politely shaking his head.

I don’t have to actually hear their conversation, I can read it very clearly on his face.

Sighing again, I empty my glass, and hope for the girls to understand that even someone as famous as him sometimes just wants to be left alone.

But I am British so I know how to behave properly.

Those girls don’t. They won’t leave until they get what they came for and they'd do anything to get it.

I look around for his friends but the club's dim and crowded and I can't spot any of them. Nobody notices what's happening...or rather, ignores it in good old English fashion.

One of the girls is rummaging through her purse; I'd bet a month salary that she's looking for her mobile or even worse, a camera.

Benedict's in trouble now and there's nothing he can do about it.

Either he is straight out denying her a photo and will go down in history as the Worst Behaving Celebrity even before he'd be able to leave the club; or, he's doing what they 'ask' for and will spend the rest of his night out in that exact spot, having to pose for photos with everybody who happens to have a mobile with them – which will be 95% of the attendees.

His night is ruined and he knows it. His shoulders sink in defeat as he comes to the same conclusion.

His eyes are searching the room, presumably for his friends in hope for help but he can’t find them; neither can I.

Suddenly his helpless gaze lands on me, boring into my eyes.

I jerk back, blushing like the stalker that I am.

But there's no accusation in his look, just a plea – not to me, especially, but in general.

Before I know what I'm doing I’m on my feet, making my way over to him, eyes still locked as I coil my way through the full dance floor.

The closer I get the better I can see the changing emotions on his face: confusion, anger, relief, washing over his face in an instant, and I have to bite back a grin.

It's hilarious actually, as I have no real idea what to do but as I fight through the dancing bodies a thought forms in my head.

It's insane and probably so not what he wants but it's my best shot, and perhaps just what he _needs_.

A giggle bubbles up in my throat and I let it out, as it might help with that utterly bonkers thing I am about to do.

“Ben,” I call out, loud enough for the girls to hear me but not for the rest of the club.

Deliberately ignoring the girls, I push past them and _goodgodalmighty_ throw my arms around the man's neck.

“Just go with it,” I whisper into his ear before I pull him down into a kiss.

For a second I forget everything, white noise is buzzing in my head and I press a bit closer to him.

I am kissing Benedict Cumberbatch.

In public.

Without his consent.

Absently I notice the perfectly synced gasp behind me.

He's stiff, not moving and in my head I'm begging him to move to not embarrass myself even further.

Finally _thankyouthankyou_ he brings his arms up a bit and settles his hands on my lower back.

Before the poor boy can react some more I reluctantly let him go; it's a shame to not keep kissing those sinful lips.

I lean back, arms still around his neck and gaze up at him.

“Where have you been, Love? I've been looking for you for aaaages...” I coo, exaggerating the pouting lover.

“I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I? Already off and looking for somebody else, huh?”

I keep babbling while I slowly maneuver him towards the exit.

Purposefully I step on one of the gaping girls’ feet just to look at her with the most arrogant expression I know I have.

“Excuse me??” I say with the poshest tone I can manage.

She blushes crimson red and stumbles back, mumbling apologies, taken aback by my attitude, reacting exactly as I was hoping for.

I turn on my heels, grab Benedict's hand and drag him past the shocked girls.

“Apologize,” I mutter under my breath, giving a brief nod towards them.

God, I love a clever man, he's caught up terribly quick.

“I'm sorry ladies, gotta dash. Another time, yes? Have a lovely evening,” he drawls and gives each of the girls that boyish smile that is his trademark.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing and keep pulling him towards the door.

“My friends...” he protests weakly but follows me outside anyway.

We stumble into the warm summer night, past the line of waiting folks and down the crowded pavement until we come to a little park.

It's dark and more important, empty.

I fall on a bench, finally letting that suppressed laughter out that I've been holding back for a while now.

There's a tug on my hand and I look up, realizing that I'm still holding Benedict's.

“Whoops,” I giggle and let go, laughing even harder.

I rather feel than see as he sits down beside me, and his silent yet intense presence eventually sobers me up.

I wipe my eyes and peer over to him, all of a sudden afraid of his reaction.

Bright eyes, sparkling in blue, green, grey and gold are looking at me, the dark curls surrounding his head like a halo. The faint light of a street lamp is highlighting those sharp cheekbones, making them stand out more than usual.

Involuntarily my gaze drops to his mouth; his lips are still a bit swollen from my assault and there's a smear of my lipstick on that _jesushelpme_ wonderfully curved cupid-bow.

I’m raising my hand before I know what I am doing but strong, warm fingers close around my wrist, stopping my movement in mid-air.

“Lipstick,” I murmur shyly, averting my eyes.

A blush creeps over my face as I suddenly realize what I did tonight.

“Hey,” he says, letting go of my wrist and tilting me head up with one hand, “thank you. You saved me in there...”

I snicker; this is probably the most absurd thing I've ever done in my entire life.

“Don't mention it. I'm sure anybody...”

He laughs softly.

“What? Would've kissed me to save me from some fans? Yeah, I'm sure about that.”

His low chuckle rumbles through his chest and I can feel it through the finger, still laying on my chin.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“You cold?” he asks concerned.

I shake my head.

“Nah...”

Silence falls; the only sound the droning of the cars on the street and a couple of passers-by outside the park.

I can feel the alcohol buzzing in my veins, reminding me gently that I may have had one drink too many.

“Oi,” I hear beside me, “I might have had one too many...”

I glare over, seeing him leaning back against the bench, closing his eyes.

I laugh loudly.

“What?” he asks but his lip's twitching bemusedly.

I shake my head.

“Nothing... I was thinking just the same...”

He smiles bright and carefree, eyes still firmly closed, and it strikes me like lightning:

He's beautiful, plain and simple, and he has no idea about it, doesn't even see how utterly breathtaking he is.

Shadows are dancing over his angular face and enhancing the exquisite beauty of it.

He's relaxed now, pliantly slouched against the back of the bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him and he looks like he has all the calm in the world.

I shouldn't be watching him, shouldn't relish the feeling of being here, with the man I adore and admire so much and yet I don't move or look away.

“I can feel that, y'know...” he mumbles, glancing at me through a half open lid.

I blush again.

“Sorry,” I say, hastily looking away.

“'s fine,” he replies as he stretches blissfully, “'m used to that.”

I snort.

“Yeah, I could see that.”

He grins again and I'm slightly shocked as to how it makes him look like 20, not 36.

“Dat's not the same. They wouldn’t've left me alone. I'm glad about that all,” he waves a slightly uncoordinated hand through the air, “but sometimes 's... scary, I think...”

He falls silent again, humming softly to himself.

And suddenly I realize how drunk he really is, he just can it hide better than others.

“You're drunk,” I state, ignoring the fact that his hand's coming to rest on the wood between us, permeating heat against my thigh.

“Mmmmm,” he all but purrs and I am that close to losing it.

I clench my teeth and my fist and force myself to stand.

“You should go home,” I tell him firmly, looking down at him.

“Why?” he asks, catching me a tad off guard.

I stutter a bit as I try to find an answer.

“Uhm... cause I am also drunk and I really should go home as well.”

He blinks lazily and checks his watch.

“'s far too early to call it a night.”

Hands on my hips I scowl at him.

“Well, one of us has to be reasonable. If I go home now, who'll rescue your virtue from evil fans again, huh?”

He ponders that with an utterly adorable expression on his face.

“Hmm, that sounds about right.”

He jumps to his feet, swaying a little but catches himself quickly.

“How 'bout this? I invite you for coffee and thank you over an' over again for saving my arse, how does that sound?”

I look at him, lost for words while my brain's rotating.

On one hand the most gorgeous man I'll ever meet just invited me for coffee. Little old me.

On the other hand, I am definitely drunk and wouldn’t be able to be held responsible for my doings.

“C'mon, just one coffee. Or tea, if you prefer.”

He holds out his hand, grinning that boyish grin at me and my resistance melts faster than snow in the Sahara.

“ _One_ coffee,” I strain, ignoring his hand; if I touch him again, I really won’t be able to stop.

He narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything.

“Lead on,” I say, grabbing my purse.

We leave the park and he turns left, wandering down the street, hands in his pockets, head ducked away from the constant stream of people still populating London's night.

Five minutes later I follow Benedict into a shady-looking bar where we are seated in a separated booth; he's obviously known here: the waiter makes sure Benedict sits with the back to the windows so he's hidden from sight.

I raise an eyebrow at him but he only shrugs.

“Used to come here before the 'famous' thing...” he says in way of explanation.

He hands me the menu and I raise the other eyebrow at him.

“You said coffee. What do I need that for?”

He grins again.

“Maybe you find something better in there than coffee.”

 _Darlin’, I have already found something much better than that_ , I think, but I don’t say anything as I flick through the rather well-sorted drinks category.

“You should try the _Jersey Devil_ ,” he suggests innocently but his multicoloured eyes are twinkling cheekily.

I roll my eyes but close the menu and sigh defeated.

“You're an evil enabler, you know that?”

He leans back, smiling widely and nods.

“Been told before once or twice, yes.”

I laugh, I can't help myself.

I've heard about his charm but experiencing it myself is something completely different.

The waiter comes back and Benedict orders our drinks – no coffee for him either.

“So,” he drawls, looking me deep in the eyes, chasing a shudder down my spine with its intensity.

“You know me but I don’t know you.”

He slaps a hand to his forehead, grinning ruefully.

“Blimey, I didn’t even ask your name. How rude.”

I grin back at him.

“Well, you were busy fighting the wild fandom off. I’m Amber, pleasure to meet you.”

I hold my hand out over the table, more mockingly than anything else but he takes it, suddenly very serious.

“It's my pleasure, Amber,” he murmurs and then he kisses my hand.

I gasp surprised.

Goosebumps are rising all over my arms as his lips gently touch my skin, and I shiver.

He notices instantly and he looks at me from under his fringe, raising an eyebrow.

I try to take my hand back but he doesn't let go. His extraordinary eyes are studying me, registering the blush on my face and the goosebumps on my bare arms.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, making me smile briefly at that Sherlockian slip.

He swipes his lips over my hand again, soft and barely touching and yet I feel every millimetre his mouth touches.

“You like this,” he states lowly as he tightens his grip around my wrist, pulling my hand closer to him.

I can only stare at him, barely able to breathe.

I watch as he keeps mouthing butterfly kisses on my skin. His fingertips brush over my pulse point and his eyes flash with delight at its elevating pace.

His fingers are long and elegant and I keep staring at them as they turn my hand, sliding over the palm and up over every finger, outlining them carefully.

My entire body is shaking ever so slightly now and of course he sees it.

He looks up from examining my hand, his eyes have gone dark and when they meet mine, the air between us becomes somewhat charged, electric, and makes breathing even harder.

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity, his fingertips still caressing my skin.

I can’t look away, his gaze is hypnotizing. My heart's thudding in my chest, far too loud, I'm sure he can hear it.

“You're sitting too far away,” he says lowly, tugging gently on my hand.

“C'mere,” he rasps, and that voice of his, deep and rumbling, shoots a jolt of sudden desire through my body.

He doesn't let go of my hand as I stand and stumble around the table on wobbly knees. His eyes are narrowed and following my every move, registering every shuddery breath I take.

He doesn't wait until I sit back down again; he pulls me down and against him, wrapping his long arms around my waist.

“That's better,” he mutters as he presses his hands against my lower back.

For one moment time freezes as our gaze locks again, neither of us daring to move.

I can see every detail crystal clear: the tiny sprinkle of brown in his right eye, the fine sheen of sweat on his eyebrows, the thickness of his lashes.

But then everything becomes irrelevant because he leans in and brushes the gentlest of kisses against my lips.

He stays like that for a moment, his nose is rubbing against mine, his skin warm and soft, his scent intoxicating.

Suddenly he lets out a rough growl, startling me with its barely-contained hunger.

He's all over me in a heartbeat, his hands pulling me close, his mouth pressing hard against mine and I react instinctively. My hands search and find those wild curls that have been driving me crazy since the second I laid eyes on him, burying deep into the soft silkiness of them.

A moan vibrates from him through me, there's a sneaky touch of his tongue against my lower lip and I break.

He claims my mouth with his, his tongue sliding roughly against mine, tangling, licking, tasting.

God, that feels so good, hot and wet and messy and perfect.

I cling to him, not able to control the quiet whimpers that escape but they just seem to turn him on.

His hands slide over my back, pulling me closer, pressing me harder against his chest; I feel the heat radiating from him, can smell his desire.

I wanna crawl into him, wanna devour him from the inside and he seems to feel the same. His kisses turn feverish, he's biting my lip now, sucking it into the heat of his mouth before coming back more forcefully, stealing my breath and reducing me to a quivering mess with his kisses.

The clearing of a throat behind us makes him pull back a bit but he doesn't take his eyes off of me. I’m overwhelmed and a bit shocked at the fire I can see in them, the pupils are wide and only a small band of blue-green is surrounding them.

“Your drinks, Sir,” the waiter says politely, sets them down and vanishes again.

“Our drinks,” Benedict murmurs, his lips brushing over mine once more and setting every single nerve in my body on fire.

“Drinks...” I mutter back, nibbling on that delicate skin of his lower lip.

He groans lowly, it rumbles through his chest, having me growl in return.

“Wanna go?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, and he could get me to do anything asked in that voice.

“Wherever you wanna go,” I whisper back.

It makes him chuckle. He kisses me again, quickly but thoroughly, leaving me flushed and breathless.

He gently pushes me back so I can stand, fishes some money out of his pocket and throws it on the table.

“C'mon then,” he says, grabs my hand and this time it's him who pulls me along.

Back outside he hails a cab – surprisingly quick for a Friday night – but by now I'm convinced he can do anything.

I giggle a bit to myself as I slide into the cab and he quirks a questioning eyebrow at me.

“Nothing. I just decided that you might be magical, that’s all,” I tell him giddily.

It makes him laugh loudly and he pulls me against his side as he tells the driver an address.

We chuckle all the way through the journey.

*

Waking up to bright sunlight falling on your face? Not bad.

Knowing that, when you open your eyes, it will hurt? Pretty bad.

Instinctively I lay still, concentrating on breathing, slowly letting conscience seep in.

Carefully I blink one eye open, letting my surroundings come into focus.

 _This is not my bedroom_ , is my first thought, quickly followed by the sharp pain of a hangover headache.

I groan and pull the duvet over my head.

Trying to breathe the pain away an unfamiliar scent hits my oversensitive nose.

Ohhh.

Comprehension dawns and I lower the duvet again, turning my head – slowly – and squint at the other side of the bed.

OHHH!

Wasn’t a dream then, that sassy little voice in my head informs me cheekily.

The man laying next to me, wearing only a thin sheet over his very naked body, is indeed Benedict Cumberbatch.

Good lord almighty.

I squeeze my eyes shut, count to ten and glance over again.

He's on his stomach, arms buried under his pillow, the simple black cotton of the bed-wear lovingly enhancing the ivory paleness of his skin.

His hair is surrounding his head in wild, gorgeously tousled curls and waves; he looks so young in his sleep.

Tiny snores fill the air between us and move a strand that has fallen into his face rhythmically.

Beams of sunlight are painting a bright path across his bare back, illuminating the skin with a golden shimmer, catching over his spine and in the delicate swell of his arse.

There's a fine, fine sheen of sweat gathering just in the hollow of his lower back and I have to fight the sudden urge to lean over and lick it away.

A needy groan slips past my lips; he stirs, mumbles something, a little frown darts over his face before he lies still again.

I have to force myself to tear my eyes off of him and quickly examine myself.

There's a pleasant ache and a slight stiffness in my body, signs of a rather enjoyed night.

Grinning I stretch, careful to not wake him but now my brain's waking as well, and starts rattling.

What to do?

Wait till he wakes? Having breakfast even?

Leaving while he still sleeps, sparing him the embarrassment of waking to a stranger?

I'm quite sure he's had his fair share of one-night stands, he's still a guy for heaven's sake, not a saint.

Still, he had been pretty wasted last night although he was hiding it rather well.

I can faintly remember a few more drinks after we arrived, some even poured onto naked skin.

A delightful shiver runs down my spine as images of dark liquid on pale flesh flicker in front of my eyes.

 _Good god, what did you do to me_ , I think as my gaze involuntarily slides over him again.

He's a bloody star, he's famous and I'm quite aware that this was a one-time-only thing.

I'm just a nice diversion from his 'normal' life, nothing special, I'm not that delusional.

Reluctantly I sit up and slide out of bed, gathering my clothes together before I locate the bathroom.

I squint against the too-bright light coming in through the big window before I inspect myself in the mirror.

No too shabby. Sure, my hair looks like a cat's slept in it and my make-up is a bit deranged but nothing a comb and some water couldn’t fix.

I borrow a towel from the drawer next to the sink and place it neatly folded on the washer when I'm done.

My faithful purse provides me with gum and a brush and soon I look more or less respectable again.

I get dressed and after a last check I take a deep breath, my hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob.

I'm not sure whether I'd rather have him awake or still asleep but there's only one way to find out, and I slowly open the door.

He is still asleep, rolled on his back, his face turned towards the sun now.

I stare for a moment, I can't help myself, it is quite the sight, one that I will cherish for a good while.

Long, loose limbs, pliantly resting between crumpled sheets and with the sunlight illuminating his ethereal features he's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.

He stirs again, and I decide it's really time to leave now.

I cross the room silently and deposit the little note I've written in the bathroom on his night stand: nothing dramatic, just a thank you – yes, I am that cheesy but it's also polite – and the promise to keep last night our little secret; I don’t want him to worry about a juicy and detailed report of our time in the papers the next day.

I also set down the aspirin I've found at the sink and a glass of water; he might need it.

Looking down on his, I smile wistfully.

“Good-bye you gorgeous thing you,” I whisper and I can't stop myself from stroking that errant curl out of his face, just once.

He murmurs something but I need to really leave now and so I take that as my cue.

I make my way through the rather big and incredibly cozy flat to the front door.

Sighing I pull it open and with one last look around, I carefully close it behind me.

Taking a deep breath to centre myself I walk down the stairs, mentally storing away every single moment of the past few hours.

The sun's already burning hot down on me as I step out of the house and onto the pavement, curiously looking around to find out where exactly I am.

A cab pulls into the street and I wave it over.

“Magical,” I murmur to myself as I slip in and tell the cabbie my address.

Quite magical indeed, I think.

I am smiling all the way home.

*

When I see Benedict the next time I try to hide behind my best friend.

It's strange, perhaps I should've expected to see him here but apparently I have lost a couple of brain cells during the past months.

Karen, my closest friend for 15 years, has tickets for this charity thing, due to her work, and she'd dragged me along.

“You need to go out, Love,” was her one and only argument two weeks ago.

I had protested, wildly, and had pointed out my condition but she hadn’t listened.

“Hush,” she had reasoned, “one can't even really see. Now, be a lovely girl and help me getting something suitable to wear.”

I tried to resist but it was futile, she was as stubborn as a rock.

I had accompanied her to what felt like a million shops and boutiques, and at the end of the day even I had found a pretty dress for myself, more or less by accident.

She had organized everything, had made appointments at the hair and nail salon for me and had picked me up personally to make sure I didn’t chicken out at the last minute.

And here I was now, desperately trying to vanish into thin air.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asks irritated and scowls at me while I flutter around her, trying to keep her between me and him.

“Nothing,” I say, blushing a bit but determined not to be seen.

“Amber, for heaven's sake... Oh dear lord...”

The penny's dropped. I sigh deeply and fall on a chair behind her.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I didn’t know he'd be here. I should've checked...” she mumbles apologetic.

Of course she knows what happened that night six months ago. Although, I made her swear a million oaths to never breathe a word to any soul about it.

Now she is swirling around me, and I start giggling helplessly as she uses her rather fancy dress to keep me from sight.

“Stop it,” I choke between chuckles, “you only draw even more attention to us. Rather...”

Her “oh fuck” is quiet but very heartfelt.

“Benedict. Lovely to see you here. How are you doing?”

“Karen, what a pleasure to see you.”

God, that voice...

I squeeze my eyes shut and hope for a miracle. I sit with my back to him, I can't see him and I pray that he doesn't see me either.

Karen starts chatting with him, not moving from the spot in my back.

I cling to my drink and hope he leaves but no such luck.

His voice is closer now and Karen's tone gets slightly panicked as she tries to distract him from me.

“Oh, you've got company. Excuse my manners. Hello...?”

The question mark is clearly audible and I take a deep breath before I look up.

“Good evening Benedict.”

I'm surprised at the calmness in my voice, deep inside I’m fighting the urge to jump to my feet and run.

His charming smile freezes and his eyes go wide before he catches himself quickly.

“Amber, how nice to see you again,” he says, smiling and extending his hand towards me.

I take it and for a moment we're both transported back to the first time we shook hands. I see him bite back a smirk as he also remembers.

“How are you doing?” he asks but Karen interrupts him rather harshly.

“I’m sorry, Benedict, it was lovely to see you but we have to go.”

She pushes past him to pull me to my feet.

 _Not now_ , I yell in my head as I struggle against her grip.

I use our usually perfectly working BFF telepathy but for once she doesn't get it.

She's frowning at me and I can hear her thoughts loud and clear: Let's get the hell out of here.

I drill my eyes into her, slightly shaking my head but she's so focused to leave that she's blind and deaf to anything else.

She is stronger than me; one last pull and I stand.

I stop struggling; it's too late now.

Sitting down the dress hid my body but standing the little bump in my midst isn't to be mistaken.

Out of the corner of my eyes I can see Benedict's admiring gaze sweeping over me. I don’t have to see his face, I can hear his gasp as his eyes wander lower and I steel myself.

Time freezes, neither of us is breathing.

I glance over to him, he's gone pale, all kinds of emotions wavering over his face, and I can almost see his brain calculating.

Such a clever boy.

“Ohh,” he breathes before his face goes blank, an almost genuine smile taking over.

“C'mon on Amber, we should really leave now,” Karen peeps, tugging on my hand but she knows it's a lost cause.

“Con..congratulations,” Benedict says softly, his eyes flickering between my face and my belly.

“Thank you,” I reply just as softly.

“How far are you?” he asks which is a perfectly valid question but I know what he's on about.

For a moment I consider lying – letting him off the hook but I've always been a terrible liar.

“Six months,” I say, searching his eyes.

And he understands instantly.

“Can we talk?”

I nod and let go of Karen's hand that I'm still holding. She eyes me carefully.

“Darlin, are you sure...?”

I smile at her.

“Don't worry. Go home, I'll take a cab. Or amuse yourself. Either way I'll get home safely.”

I hug her quickly before I exchange a look with Benedict.

He nods towards the terrace and I follow him outside.

It's quiet here, it's a rather cool night and stars are sparkling in the dark sky.

I start shivering instantly. It had been very warm inside and the cold air feels icy.

“Here.”

A jacket is laid around my shoulders and Benedict's scent unfurls all those memories in a heartbeat.

I pull the jacket closer around me, inhaling deeply before I turn to him.

He's watching me thoroughly, his face blank and controlled. He raises an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So,” he says and I jerk inwardly at the plainness of his voice, “I don’t suppose you have a boyfriend or a husband at home...”

He lets the rest of the question hanging in the air between us.

I shake my head; the cold's creeping under my dress, chilling me down to the bone.

“And you're here alone...well, with your friend but no man at your side.”

I shake my head again.

“I also reckon you're not that kind of woman that sleeps around with the next best bloke that crosses your path, hmm?”

I glare at him but his eyes have turned icy and unreadable, a huge contrast to the gentle warmth I know is in there.

“Stop right there,” I say, anger boiling up, “don't make assumptions. You don’t know shit about me.”

Satisfied I see his eyes go wide and shocked for a second before the blank mask is back; actor after all, he is.

“No, I don’t have anybody, and I'm certainly no hooker or groupie, if you think that...Yes, it happened that night. No, I don’t want anything from you... God, don’t you think, otherwise I would have knocked on your door the second I found out?! I know where you live, remember? I don’t hold you responsible for anything. It was an accident and after a few sleepless and tearful nights I decided to keep it. Happy now?”

My eyes suddenly fill with tears; bloody hormones, I'd thought that'd be over. Obviously not. Sobs shake my chest and I turn away from him, don’t want him to see how much he'd hurt me with his accusations.

“Hey...hey,” he mutters, the cool façade is falling and he sounds like a helpless little boy with no clue what to do.

“I'm sorry... Listen, this is not your problem, okay? Why don’t you go and do … what you do? Just forget about this.”

He's silent for a while and just as I think he has left, his hands hesitantly close around my shoulders and he gently nudges me to turn.

“How could I forget this? Hmm? I couldn’t even forget that night... But you just left, no number, no way to call you... “

He cocks his head and looks at me curiously, obviously expecting an answer.

I snort.

“Gosh, you're a bloody famous actor, why would you want to call me?” I ask bitterly.

“Perhaps because I enjoyed your company?” he says gently, an uncertain smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I frown at him, irritated.

“You..? What?”

I'm speechless and his smile grows more convincing.

“Amber, I don’t take anybody home with me just because I'd like a nice shag. I might be an actor and perhaps well-known...”

I snort again but he shakes his head, still smiling gently.

“...but I also consider myself a gentleman. I have my pride, you know... and I reckon, some taste as well.”

He actually winks at me while saying the last one and I can't contain the giggle that bubbles up.

He's grinning widely now but as his eyes drop to my midst again there's a flicker of something else in them. I see his fingertips twitch and as he searches my eyes there's a plea in them, so deep and needing it breaks my heart.

“May...may...” he stumbles over the words.

Wordlessly I take his hand and place it on the top of my belly, holding it there.

His eyes go big in wonder as he spreads his fingers wide, just feeling over the taut surface.

My Gizmo is sleeping, had been all evening but I want to give Benedict something, so I press my thumb in the side of my stomach and poke gently.

Instantly there's a wave of movement, a little roll and I feel how my flesh lifts, tightens and then sinks back down.

“Ohhh....”

It's just a whisper but it's full of amazement, and it's the most endearing thing I've ever seen in a grown man.

His other hand joins the first, covering my entire belly now – God, he has such huge hands – they're warm and firm even through the fabric of my dress.

Gizmo is moving again, kicking a bit, probably very displeased with being woken so abruptly.

Benedict tears his eyes away to meet mine, a million questions dancing in them but he settles for the most urgent one.

“Do.. do you know... I mean... boy or girl...”

I shake my head, smiling.

“I don’t know. Didn’t want to know. I call it Gizmo for now...”

He laughs that deep and joyful laugh and suddenly the inside of my belly goes still as if listening.

“Oh, that's new,” I declare surprised, “do that again.”

Benedict eyes me questioningly.

“What, laughing?”

I nod.

“Yes, it seems to like it... never had a reaction like that before.”

He chuckles and leans down, closer to the bump.

“Hello there...Gizmo,” he all but coos and laughs softly again.

Gizmo makes a slow movement, nothing like the usual jerking and kicking motions I'm used to by now.

“Hmm, it seems to like your voice,” I muse solemnly, making him laugh even more.

He gives my belly a soft stroke that makes my toes curl before he straightens his back again and holds his hand out.

“Let's talk arrangements,” he says, suddenly earnest.

I stare in his face, searching for... I don’t even know for what but he returns my look, straight and honest.

“Are you sure?” I ask, “it'll change everything in your life.”

He just holds my gaze.

“She's my Gizmo, too.”

“She?”

A grin flickers over his lips.

“She.”

Chuckling I take his hand, a wave of joy washing over me.

“It's your funeral, Cumberbatch.”

*

It still feels weird using the key. It's new and shiny and looks oddly wrong in my hands but when I push it into the lock, I can't deny the slight tingle of joy in my stomach.

Laying a hand on said stomach to calm the storm in there I walk into the flat and close the door behind me.

“Ben?” I call out even though I know he's not here yet. He's shooting Sherlock today and won't be home for at least two hours. He's called me from set and invited me over for dinner.

I shed my coat and take off my boots; I don’t want to ruin the wooden floor with the snowmud. Winter has come quickly over London and as much as I love taking a walk in the snow, I don’t think he'd appreciate the puddles on his (probably expensive) floor.

I put the dripping boots on the doormat next to the entrance and wander slowly through the flat, smiling to myself.

I've been here a couple of times yet and still find new things to discover.

I have kept my flat as I'm not sure as to where this... thing may lead and how we can arrange our lives around each other.

We talked a lot about it and eventually agreed on giving the us a try. Sure, he feels obliged and I am aware of that, but I also know how desperately he wants to be a Dad, both from being a fan for so long and of course him telling me personally.

We like each other and one can't deny the chemistry we have.

But we're in a pretty unusual situation: we don’t know each other very well, and getting thrown right in the middle of something 'normal' couples accomplish over years of being together, even planning it, it's all too new and complicated to us.

Still, we're trying and so far I can't complain.

We both continue our lives but we also try to spend time together, getting to know each other better. We don’t go out much, some private parties of close friends of his although I don’t feel comfortable with that. I don’t like the looks some of them throw at me. He noticed very quickly and so we spend most of the times in either his or my flat, talking.

I smile; if I'd tell my friends that I spend the time with the father of my child with bloody conversations they'd declare me insane.

There has been some touching, of course, chaste hello and good-bye kisses on the cheek, and that's all. But nothing more, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

Sure, he loves to cover my growing belly with his gorgeous hands, feeling the kicks and rolls but he never tries anything else, never comes too close, and that's confusing me.

Sighing I stroll into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

When in doubt, make tea. One of the best pieces of advice my mother has given me and mother's always right.

In a few months everything will be different, I'll have somebody else to take care off, to look after, my world will be turned upside down, already has and I wonder when I've become so calm about it.

I guess it's the fact that I can't change it now. I made my decision a while back, and I'm at peace with it.

Having Benedict's support and help is more than I could have expected although I know I could've managed by myself, otherwise I wouldn’t have decided to keep my little Gizmo.

A lazy punch from said Gizmo makes me smile and soothingly I run a hand over my side where she punched me.

“We're some lucky girls, aren’t we, Love?” I tell her, unconsciously having adopted Benedict's faith that the baby has to be a girl.

Another kick, quite powerful this time; she's getting more agile lately which in turn wears me out a tad bit.

I take my tea and go back into the sitting room. I switch on the iPod in its station and soon low music fills the room; Benedict's taste is very eclectic and I always find something I haven’t heard before.

Tonight's something gentle, a soft and soothing piano piece, very fitting for the calm atmosphere in the flat.

I curl up on the sofa, pulling the blanket laying there over my feet, sipping contently on my tea and watch the snow slowly fall outside the big windows.

*

“Amber? Love...wake up...”

I mutter something unintelligible and blink my eyes open.

Benedict sits on the coffee table, watching me with a gentle expression on his face.

“Hey Sleepyhead,” he says smiling which makes the skin around his eyes crinkle adorably.

I can't help myself and stare, getting lost in his face.

He doesn't move and lets me, he's used to that by now as I sometimes stop everything and just look at him, it's something I don’t seem to have control over.

He looks tired, must've been a long day for him. His hair's ruffled and wet. He's still wearing his scarf but he's taken off his coat, it's tossed over a chair in the sitting room.

His cheeks are rosy and I'm sure if I'd touch them, they would be cold and a bit damp, too.

Suddenly I can't suppress the urge to do so and reach out.

His eyes narrow for a second but as my fingertips brush over his indeed cool skin, he just sighs quietly, letting me run my fingers over those incredibly sharp cheekbones.

“Still snowing?” I ask and am surprised at the hoarseness in my own voice.

He nods wordlessly, not taking his eyes off of me.

My fingers are still exploring his face, as if mapping it out, slowly sliding over taut skin and delicate bones, tracing his eyebrows, down his nose, which causes a brief smirk before he resumes his intense gazing.

I hesitate a second before I brush my thumb over his lips, first the upper then the lower lip, a tingling sensation running through my veins.

Benedict's lids flutter closed, his breath hitches but he remains silent, a statue on the coffee table, angelic and calm.

I sit up from my slouched position on the sofa.

My hand shifts lower, hovering over the thick scarf before carefully loosening it and taking it off.

I've always loved a long, slender neck but Benedict's is perfect: creamy white, dotted with random freckles, and I let my fingers slide over them, making him shiver a little.

The atmosphere in the room has changed, gone from quiet and calm to something electrified, sizzling in the air between him and me.

“You're beautiful,” I whisper, the need to tell him overwhelmingly strong and I bite my lip as the words slipped past.

His eyes snap open: his pupils dark and huge, filled with something I don’t dare to name.

“ _You_ are beautiful,” he replies roughly, the words rumbling deep in his chest, making the words almost touchable.

I blush and look away but he lays a hand on my cheek and turns my head back to him.

“No, look at me...please...” he murmurs, his palm warm and strong against my skin and involuntarily I lean into his touch.

“Look at you,” he continues, his thumb stroking my cheek, “so marvelous, so wonderful...”

He swallows hard, trying to find words.

“Coming home to this... you, on my couch, waiting... never thought I'd... it's what got me through the day, y'know, knowing you'll be here...”

My face is heating up even more but I can't take my eyes off of him, his gaze has banned me and I feel hypnotized.

His hand on my face slides back in the nape of my neck and pulls me closer, his nose touching mine.

He's close, so close, and my heart's beating too fast, my hands are shaking.

“I really want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting warm over my lips.

“I won't hinder you,” I reply silently, trying to control my own breathing which has gotten slightly erratic over the past few minutes.

“Good,” he whispers and closes the distance between us.

My heart stops for a split second as his warm lips touch mine before it starts hammering away.

He's hesitant, giving me all the chances to back away but I wouldn’t dream of it.

He nips on my lower lip, oh so carefully, before teasing the sensitive flesh with the tip of his tongue, making me shudder rather heavily. It's the most sensual thing I've ever experienced.

His hand has slid in my hair, cradling me closer, and he's humming his pleasure against my mouth.

Slowly he's licking past my tingling lips, tenderly nudging my own tongue.

The shift and slide of his hot flesh against mine is addictive and I moan lowly, desire and heat rushing through my blood.

He smells of snow and cold and tea and something musky and dark and that combination only fuels the fire in my stomach.

My fingers have slipped in his hair, sliding through the dark silky curls, making him groan. I smile against his lips; he's so god damn responsive.

Suddenly desperate to have him closer, I pull him against me.

He lets out a low rumble and he tightens his own grip around me.

He deepens the kiss, his lips pressing hungrily against mine, his tongue dancing boldly along mine and all the while he's moaning deeply in his chest, which is driving me mad.

I can still remember the intoxicating sounds he was able to make and suddenly I can't bare it anymore.

I pull back, panting harshly as I search his eyes once more.

The colour's gone, they're completely black and I can read the same wild longing in them that I can feel in my own body.

“I want you,” I whisper as I run my hands over his back, letting him feel the faint bite of fingernails, “I need you... want to feel you...inside me...”

He growls roughly and then he's over me, pressing me into the cushions of the sofa, kissing me fiercely. He breaks the kiss and starts mouthing down my neck, his hand sliding over my side. His fingers sneak under the hem of my shirt and as he touches bare skin, I gasp.

“Soo soft,” he mutters against my neck while his fingers glide over my heated skin upwards, pushing the shirt higher.

I lift my arms and he pulls it off, tossing it on the floor.

Watching me through half closed lids he sits back and starts opening his shirt buttons.

“Let me,” I breathe and lean up to undo them, revealing pale skin as I go.

As the shirt's open I push it gently down his arms, letting my hands slide over the wide expanse of ivory skin.

His breathing has become ragged and a faint blush is spreading over that marble like face and down his neck.

I can see the bulge in his trousers and as I purposefully brush over it, his head falls back and he groans longingly.

With a swift motion he's on his feet, fumbling with his belt but I stop his hands with mine.

He looks down on me questioningly but as I slowly open the belt, the button and the zip, his eyes grow wide and he relaxes.

Quickly I push trousers and pants down his legs, relishing the feeling of those hard muscles against my palms. Leaning forward, I brush kisses against his heated thighs, getting slightly dizzy with the smell of pure Benedict before I take him in my hands, making him jerk and then moan.

I savour the feeling; silky skin, taut and hot over steel hardness, proof that he wants me as much as I want him.

I kiss the head before I lick over his full length, smiling at the shuddery sounds he makes.

As I take him in my mouth, his hands bury in my hair, neither pushing nor pulling, just holding on, a gentle, assuring weight.

His taste explodes on my tongue and I take him deeper, closing my lips around him, sucking hard and quick.

He sucks in a sharp breath and I feel his thighs quiver under my hands as I stroke over his upper leg.

His taste, his scent, the sounds he makes, it's intoxicating and I could keep doing this for hours but I feel myself getting wet and impatient.

I let go, causing him to protest weakly, and stand. We're chest to chest; his skin is burning against my belly, and his erection is trapped between my bump and his stomach.

His eyes flutter open, suddenly realizing something.

“Will it... I mean...” he stumbles and his hands involuntarily land on the ball between us.

“Don't worry... as long as it's okay for both...” I tell him calmly, looking him deep in the eyes.

“Ohh... okay...” he mumbles, his fingers already sneaking into my trousers and pushing them down.

I step out of them, leaving me only in my panties and my bra.

Benedict kicks off the bundle around his ankles and even manages to get rid of his socks in the process.

His eyes wander over me, taking in everything, and they darken even more.

He leans in and kisses me again, and I can feel his longing in the kiss, in his hands, running over my shoulders, my neck and my back where he fumbles my bra open. It falls uselessly to the floor. His strong, big hands slide over every inch of naked flesh, cupping my breast, and I can't help the needy whimper that escapes.

His palms rub over my nipples, setting my nerves on fire. Slowly his hands wander down my side to get rid of my panties.

My body's burning with need and I can't wait any longer. I sink back down on the sofa, pulling him with me, searching his mouth and biting his lips.

Parting my legs I shift under him and he settles between them, his skin feverish hot against my own. I arch against him, bucking my hips into him and he growls roughly, moving closer.

His hardness is pulsing, I can feel that and as he guides himself _godyesfinally_ inside, I cry out, digging my fingernails in his back.

He's careful but I'm not, I can't have that right now.

I wrap my legs around him, urge him deeper, feel him filling me so completely it almost hurts.

I dig my heels in his back, needing him to move but he remains still, breathing heavily against my neck, where he has buried his face.

“Christ... Benedict, please, move...” I whisper into his hair, tilting my hips to draw him even deeper.

He mutters something but as I strain my inner muscles he lets out broken gasps and slowly starts moving, holding me tightly.

I cling to him just as hard, meeting every thrust eagerly as instinct takes over and I forget everything around us. It's just him, his body against mine, muscles moving smoothly under pale skin, sweat slicking the friction between us.

“So bloody tight...” he grumbles as he lifts up on his elbows to watch me, his hair falling in damp curls in his face.

His lips look bruised and glisten in the low lights of the room, the muscles on his neck are straining as he thrusts into me steadily and bone-crushingly deep.

“Harder,” I demand breathlessly, arching high up to meet him, urging him on and he complies.

He's panting now, lids fluttering erratically and he's mumbling endearments I don’t understand but that's not important.

His hips moves faster and faster, he’s losing his rhythm, his shoulders and chest glistening with sweat now and I feel my orgasm approaching.

“Close...so close,” he gasps, thrusting even harder, his hands around my shoulders tightening; I will have bruises there tomorrow.

I watch him getting closer and closer to the edge, he is breathtakingly gorgeous and I am not able to tear my eyes away.

I'm trying to move with him, sharp, uncontrolled motions, the sounds of flesh against flesh and our panting the only sounds in the quiet room.

Suddenly his eyes snap open, drilling intensely into mine, pinning me down, and he chokes out a long husky groan, shuddering heavily as he comes inside me.

His gaze isn't leaving me, not for one second. I am forced to watch him lose himself in me, jerking and trembling and it's the most erotic thing I have ever seen.

“Let me see...” he grits out while his own climax still surges through him, and that's it for me. My own orgasm is almost violent, rippling through me in hot and heavy waves, stealing my breath and my nails are digging deep in his back, holding onto him to not be swept away.

He's watching me through half closed lids, taking in every gasp, every shiver, and again, I can't look away; it's not possible.

We're lost in each other's eyes, staring in wonder and ecstasy while holding onto the other one like our lives depend on it.

Eventually the shivers ebb off and I collapse back into the sofa, boneless and gasping for air.

Benedict sinks down on me but quickly shifts me around so we come to lay side by side, him still being inside me.

He strokes a strand of hair out of my face, smiling wearily at me and once again I'm baffled at the complex grace in that simple motion.

“You surprise me every day,” I confess quietly and he tilts his head, waiting patiently for me to continue.

“You seem so...untouchable sometimes, so... otherworldly, far too much out of reach of us mortals and yet here you are... just human, like everybody else...”

He smirks and kisses the tip of my nose.

“Just a man,” he says softly, pulling me gently against his chest and holding me there.

We lay in silence, my hand tracing idly over his shoulder, relishing the softness of his skin.

Snow is whispering against the windowpane, darkness fills the room and I don’t want this moment to end.

Here, wrapped up in Benedict on his sofa, not talking, just laying here, feeling...wanted.

A shiver runs through me as I realize that I can imagine the rest of my life like this, being here when he comes home, waiting for him, spending a quiet night in, just him and me.

“You're freezing,” he mumbles into my hair and before I can protest he slides off of me to grab the blanket. He pulls it over me, carefully stuffs it around me.

“And you?” I mutter lazily, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am.

“I'll be right back. Sleep a bit, you look tired.”

I snort; that's so not something you tell a woman, I want to add, but my lids already slide closed and I let sleep take over.

*

“Margaret?”

“No, Jennifer?”

“Nah. Faith?”

“God no, that sounds like a soap opera. Irene?”

Benedict quirks an eyebrow at me, never stopping to stir what's bubbling on the stove.

“What?” I ask, grinning innocently at him.

“You certainly don't wanna name her after a Doyle character??”

“Why not?? Your own name is pretty unusual,” I tease him.

“Well, true, but still... no!”

He switches the stove off, scoops the pan onto the counter and comes over to where I’m sitting on a stool.

“We can't name her Gizmo, you know?” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief as he places a hand on my huge midst.

His touch is immediately greeted with a kick, and we both laugh.

Soothingly he strokes over my belly, humming lowly under his breath.

My eyes fall closed; I've gotten so used to this normality and I enjoy every single moment of it.

It's raining outside, the wind is blowing heavily around the house but inside it's warm and calm. It's Sunday so Benedict is home, cooking dinner for me even though I'm quite capable of it myself.

But he loves to spoil me and who am I to deny him that?

Also, little Gizmo's due date is coming closer and closer and moving around is getting a bit hard lately.

I moved into Benedict's flat a few weeks ago so he can keep an eye on me. Protective bugger.

Smiling to myself I look up only to find his irresistible eyes on me, watching me closely.

“What's so funny,” he asks.

“Nothing,” I reply before I push myself to my feet, huffing and swaying a bit while doing so.

Instantly Benedict grabs my shoulder's to steady me.

“I think I’ll have a little lay down,” I tell him, smiling reassuringly at his concerned face, “little Gizmo is overdoing it a bit today, I have the feeling I'm black and blue on the inside.”

He chuckles and guides me to the sofa and helps me to sit down.

“I'll wake you when dinner's ready, old lady,” he jokes and earns himself a slap on the arm for that.

“Oi, be nice, Cumberbatch, or you are the one sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

He grins down on me, that adorable boyish smile he knows weakens my knees every bloody time.

“And how are you going to achieve that?? Throwing your belly at me?”, he mocks and ducks when I throw a cushion at him.

“Careful,” he laughs, “that face is quite valuable, you don’t wanna damage it.”

“Don't worry, I'll only hurt you where nobody can see it,” I shoot back, falling back into the cozy cushion, beaming at him.

I love those little moments more than I let on: the teasing and the mocking each other, the ease between us, it's something so ordinary I sometimes wonder if the world knows that side of him.

Sometimes it shows when he's out there, in the world with its bright spotlights, being the famous superstar he is but mostly he hides this side, only shows it in private, to the people who actually know him, know the real Benedict.

I smile happily as the realization washes over me like so often lately: I am one of them now.

I pull my blanket over me, wriggle a bit to get comfy before my eyes slide closed and I drift off into sleep.

*

I wake up to a darkened room; night has fallen outside and only a few lamps are filling the room with a dim light.

I’m not fully conscious yet, still reeling in the space between sleep and wakefulness as Benedict's low voice pierces my ears.

Slowly I gather that he's sitting on the floor next to the sofa, his head leaning gently against my enormous midst, his arms slung around his knees, murmuring a constant stream of words against my belly.

“You know, you're going to have a wonderful life, your mommy is incredible, she's going to spoil you rotten... and I too... I'll give you everything, I'll get you the stars and the moon, if you ask me to... I’ll make your life on this earth the best one can have... I'll buy you toys and dresses, tiny little skirts and shirts and everything a little girl could wish for... and if by any chance you're going to be a boy, which I don’t reckon, you're my little baby girl, I still will make sure you get everything you need. You're going to the best schools, will have the best education and the world's going to be your playground...”

I can hear him swallow hard before he presses a kiss against my stomach. I keep my eyes shut and my breathing calm; I don’t wanna... what? Interrupt him, make him alert that I’m awake? I don’t know but I feel like an intruder, this is a moment between a man and his baby, and I feel as if I have no right to disturb this precious moment.

I feel him carefully pushing my shirt up but I know instantly that it's nothing sexual; he just wants to be a bit closer. A warm hand lowers onto my belly, caressing the taut skin, and giving me goosebumps.

There's slow movement inside me but it's lazy and Benedict quietly shoos it.

“Shhh, don't wake mommy, she's tired and she needs all her strength. And I will help her, you know. I might not always be here for you and her but I will do my best to give you all the love I have. And you deserve it all... everything... both of you...I love her, you know, and I love you, with everything I have, all my heart and my soul...”

His words have become quieter and quieter until he's only whispering, too low for me to hear him but I don’t need to hear more.

My eyes have filled with tears at this declaration of love; I feel my heart swell with affection and devotion for this man, sitting on the floor, caressing our baby through my skin.

Neither of us has ever said it, it's all still too new but I think we both have felt it. Since I moved in, we have shared his bed, there are heated kisses and needy touches and more than once, dinner has been forgotten on the stove when lust and desire overcame one of us at the sight of the other one.

We do – and are – what most couples do and still, there has always been that last resort neither of us was bold enough to go to, those three little words.

And now there he is, mumbling them in the dark of the sitting room while he assumes I'm still asleep.

I can't keep quiet anymore but neither do I want to break the spell that seems to lie over the place tonight.

Wordlessly I slide my hand up from under the blanket and into his hair, sighing softly at the warmth meeting my palm.

I feel him flinch for a second before he relaxes again, pressing his warm cheek against my belly.

My fingers card through his hair, over and over again before I gently tug on it and he looks up.

My heart jumps at the sight of his face: he looks so young, his expression is open and vulnerable, stripped bare, full of raw emotions and desperate for... something.

“C'mere ,” I whisper as I shift to make space for him on the sofa. As he slides up, curling around me my lips find his in a heartbeat. He sighs softly into a kiss that's more than that; it's a vow, it's a declaration, it's a promise, it's everything.

He wraps his arms around me, pulls me against his chest as close as he can and kisses me with a desire that has me gasp into his mouth.

This may lead to more but we both know it's not what this is about, and as he pulls back, searching my face with those irresistible and intense eyes, I hold his gaze, and just let him see what I feel.

He swallows again and one hand cups my face, his thumb stroking the stray tear away before he pulls me back into a deep kiss.

Dinner's forgotten once more as night fully falls, and the moon's shining through the window, illuminating us with its bright light.

*

“Oh god, oh god... keep calm, breathe, I'm on my way... shit, where... ah ta... how... okay, on my way...breathe, for fuck's sake... breathe...”

I giggle helplessly while I listen to him yelling and cursing some more before he disconnects the call.

The phone slips from my hand and the giggle turns into a sharp yelp as another contraction shoots through my back.

“C'mon Gizmo, a few more minutes, okay,” I murmur into the room as I heave myself off of the chair to get my bag.

The contractions have started only an hour ago, and first I thought it were just back pain which I had a lot lately but as it became worse I realized that it was time.

Of course the first thing I did was call Benedict and Karen; Karen would be here any second now and according to the panic on the other end, Benedict was on his way as well.

I feel a bit bad to call him away from set but I had to promise him, he had insisted that he wanted to be with me when time came.

I was just hoping he didn't crash the car on his way here but another jolt of sharp pain had me concentrate on my breathing.

The doorbell rings and slowly I make my way over to open the door for Karen.

“Wow,” she exclaims as she walks in, smiling at me, “you look like you're about to explode.”

“Why thank you, Hon, that's not helping,” I reply through gritted teeth.

The pain's coming in a steady ebb and flow now, stealing my breath and has me flailing for a hold.

Karen's by my side in a second, holding me steady while guiding me to the door.

“Breathe, Love, in and out, slowly…yes, that's fine... in and out....good girl...”

Her calm presence is helping though, her constant murmur distracts me a little as we carefully struggle down the stairs and onto the pavement.

Her car's parked right in front of the house and as she opens the door, a car shoots around the corner and stops with screeching brakes just in front of us.

Benedict jumps out of it and all but runs over to us, literally flailing and I can’t help myself. I burst into laughter, ignoring the stab of red-hot pain it causes in my lower back.

“Calm down, Ben,” I try to say but it comes out in fits of chuckles and giggles and he only glares at me, his hands fluttering all around me, not sure whether and where to touch.

“How often are the contractions, have you lost your water yet?? Can you walk? Breathe, breathe...”

He's completely panicking, his face red, his hair's a messy mop and now I notice that he's still wearing his costume; he didn’t even change and I bet nobody dared to hinder him from leaving the set in this clothes.

Another fit of hysterics shakes me and I can only shake my head repeatedly.

Karen's the one who eventually has enough.

“Okay, everybody CALM DOWN,” she yells and stops Benedict dead in his tracks.

He stares at her with big eyes and her mouth twitches at his utterly shocked expression.

“You,” she pokes a finger in my direction, “get your pregnant arse into the car. You,” another poke at Benedict,” go and fetch her bag, it's sitting by the bedroom door. Hurry.”

She glares at him with her sternest expression and after a moment of complete stasis, he whirls around and is inside the house in a blur of black and blue. I chuckle again to myself before I try to get into the car.

Karen helps me, holds me as I rather fall than sit down and makes sure all my limbs are inside before she closes the door.

“B's car,” I mutter and point at it stupidly but Karen is already on her way over there.

She leans down and talks to the driver; thankfully Benedict did have enough brain left to not drive himself, I think amused. I watch as she taps the roof and the car slowly pulls back and turns.

She comes back and slides behind the wheel, giving me a once over.

“You okay?”

I nod; the contractions have lost the sharp edge and are only a dull ache at the back of my spine now and the controlled and flat breathing the birth class taught me seems to help.

“Fine, fine,” she murmurs and hits the horn just the second Benedict stumbles back out of the house, carrying my bag and a blanket.

He all but throws himself in the backseat and starts babbling instantly, trying to shove the blanket around me.

Karen puts on her seat belt and turns towards him.

“Cumberbatch, if you don’t shut up and sit back calmly, keeping your hands to yourself, I’m going to leave you here and no matter how famous you are, you are going to _walk_ to the hospital. Do you understand me?”

I bite back the laughter that wants to break free and concentrate on my hands on my belly.

“Yes, understood,” I can hear him mutter before he strokes my shoulder and sits back, putting on his own seat belt.

“Good boy,” Karen says.

She winks at me and starts the car.

*

Everything's a bit of a blur right now. I blink my eyes open, groaning at the bright lights and screw them shut again. A cool hand brushes over my heated face, murmurs something calming.

“Turn down the lights a bit, would you?” a deep, well-known voice says and the light becomes bearable.

“Thank you.”

“She'll be fine soon, just go easy on her, she has lost a bit of blood. But she's stable.”

“Thank you”

“Just ring if you need help.”

“Thank you.”

I hear the whisking of shoes, a door opens and closes again.

Carefully I open one eye and the room swims into focus, pale yellow walls, a closed – also yellow – curtain and a closet.

Searchingly I turn my head and find Benedict sitting next to my bed, smiling at me.

“Hello Beautiful...”

There's a small frown between his eyes and without thinking I reach out to smooth it away.

He catches my hand and presses it to the side of his face, his eyes closing tightly for a moment.

“What... what happened?” I croak, surprised at the hoarseness in my throat.

Benedict lets go of my hand and reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand. He helps me drink before he carefully lowers me back into the pillows.

I feel weak and exhausted and something is seriously wrong but I can’t for the life of me remember.

There's that frown again and he takes my hand again.

“You...” he bites his lip, searching for words, “there were complications during labour...”

The sentence hangs in the air like a Damocles sword, heavy and dangerous, and I remember.

My hand jerk to my midst... my flat midst; my stomach is soft and empty and hot panic surges through me.

“The baby...?? Is it...?”

Benedict's face brightens but the lines between his eyes don’t vanish as he strokes my cheek.

“Our daughter is fine. She's rather a handful, from what I've heard, lively and very loud,” he says, chuckling a bit before his face turns serious again.

“But you have lost a lot of blood…and...something went wrong... they had to stop the bleeding and the only way of achieving that...”

He stops and looks away before he silently says:

“They had to remove your uterus. You can’t have any more children.”

Silence falls as the words sink in.

“Ohhh,” is the only thing I can say.

“I am so sorry, Amber, I wish I could do something,” he murmurs as he buries his head in his hands.

I feel numb, my hands are cold and my mind is repeating the words over and over again – no more children.

Minutes pass, neither of us is moving, each of us caught in a bubble of despair and pain.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door and before we can answer it opens and a nurse pushes a tiny bed inside.

Benedict jumps to his feet and the nurse smiles widely at him before she turns to me.

“I know you are still recuperating but it's our policy that we don’t keep mother and child separated for too long...”

She lets her gaze slowly wander between me and Benedict before she makes a decision.

She waves him over and he stumbles towards her, not taking his eyes from the little bed.

“You're the father, yes?” she asks and before he can answer she has gathered the little bundle from the bed and carefully lays it into his arms.

Wordlessly she guides his hands, shows him how to hold it and then hums approvingly.

“You're a natural.”

She smiles contently at me before she turns and silently leaves the room.

My eyes are on Benedict, cradling the bundle against his chest, staring down at it in amazement.

“Ben??” I ask quietly, suddenly needing to see my…our daughter.

“Hmmm?”

He's utterly engrossed, I can tell and a smile tugs on my mouth.

“Can I see her?”

He jerks, as if torn from deep thoughts and looks up at me.

My heart stutters as I see the most mesmerizing smile I have ever seen on his face.

He's glowing with pride and joy and something else I can’t even name; he looks utterly otherworldly and I can’t tear my eyes off of him.

“You wanna see mommy, baby??” he all but purrs as he looks back down into his arms.

There's a silent sound; it sounds like a cat meowing and my heart shatters.

Benedict slowly walks over and sits on the bed, beaming down on me.

He shifts a bit and finally I can see her.

Tears start streaming down my face as I look into the tiny and perfect face for the first time.

Her eyes are closed and she's scrunching her nose, the little hands balled into fists, her mouth slightly open.

But the most outstanding thing about her is the incredible amount of hair on her head, almost glowing in the twilight of the room.

I look at Benedict, back down at our daughter and can't hold back the chuckle that creeps up my throat.

“She's ginger?!”

He grins that loop-sided grin and nods, his shoulder's vibrating with suppressed amusement.

I reach out and gently stroke her tiny head, amazed at the softness of her hair.

“Ginger... I can’t believe it...” I mutter softly as I keep caressing her face; she's so small and yet so solid.

“Our daughter...” Benedict says hoarsely, sliding one hand away from her and cups my face.

I swallow around the lump in my throat as I meet his eyes.

And suddenly I know.

Know that even though I might not have any more children, that _we_ can’t have any more, we have this one, our baby girl, laying in her Dad's arms, sleeping peacefully, trusting and carefree

Know that this baby will be loved, will be spoiled and will grow up the happiest of children.

Because she will have the most loving and most caring parents in the world.

I tangle my hand in Benedict's hair and pull him into a swift kiss.

“I love you,” I murmur against his mouth as I let go.

His eyes go wide and the smile that breaks free is made to knock the air out of my lungs.

He opens his mouth to say something but the loud cry from between us stops him and we both stare down.

Our daughter has opened her eyes, looking at us; I know she can’t really see yet but it seems as if she's watching us before she lets out another squeal, which ends in a little mutter.

We laugh at her and I lean against Benedict, looking down at our little wonder as I remember something.

“We still haven't decided on a name yet,” I say quietly, letting my fingers run over the shell of her ear.

Benedict stiffens for a moment before he leans back to look at me.

“Uhm... well, I've been Googling names while you were...” his voice falters for a moment before he continues with a hesitant smile, “well, what do you think of Seraphina? It means _fiery one_... and after seeing her now... well, it does fit, doesn’t it?”

He's nervous, even in my weary state I notice it but as I watch him, smiling dreamily down at our baby, I think he's right.

The red hair is flaming against her pale skin, enhancing the contrast quite prettily, and as I let the name silently roll over my tongue, I can only agree with him.

“Seraphina... hmm, Seraphine, perhaps?” I muse absently, slumping against Benedict's side, feeling drained.

He wraps his free arm around me and pulls me closer, steadying me with that strength that still surprises me.

“Seraphine Louise?” he murmurs in my hair questioningly.

“Serapine Marie Louise,” I reply, smiling wildly as I say the words, letting them sink in.

I feel as if I’m floating, high as a kite and exhausted to the bone at the same time. I would drift away if it weren’t for Benedict's arm around me, holding me, grounding me in a storm of emotions.

He shifts a bit, and our daughter complains with another mewl about the sudden movement.

He chuckles and then hems, leaning away and I look up at him, feeling another wave of nervous energy surge through him.

“What do you think of Seraphine Marie Louise … Cumberbatch...” he says huskily, his eyes frantically searching my face.

It takes five heartbeats until I finally realize what he said and as the words sink in, I jerk back, ignoring the sudden stab of pain shooting through my stomach.

I stare at him, speechless. He's biting his lip nervously and his cheeks are burning.

I have to suppress the absurd urge to laugh. I hold it back but I can’t control a happy giggle from filling the silence between us.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” I choke out.

He fidgets and if he wasn’t holding the baby he would start pacing the room.

He looks away, fiddling with an edge of the blanket, looks back at me and blushes even deeper; it's absolutely adorable.

“I … yes... God, I’m sorry, I wanted to make this something romantic, with dinner and candles and a ring and falling down on one knee...make it really special and now I totally fucked it up... I'm an idiot, I should...”

I lay my finger on his lips to stop his babbling.

“Would you shut up for a moment?”

He closes his mouth and looks at me with huge, almost childish eyes, trembling a little.

“Yes, you silly man,” I say, bursting with emotions and I don’t notice the tears that run down my face, “yes, yes, yes. I don’t need all that...well, it would've been nice but no, I don’t really need it. I just need you, so yes.”

For a moment we both don’t move, just look at one another; his face lighting up like a candle and his mouth stretches wide as he starts smiling and I smile back just as wide.

“Yes?,” he whispers roughly and as I nod, suddenly lost for words, he leans forward and captures my lips in a wild kiss.

My eyes fall close and for a short moment I get lost in his soft warm mouth, stealing my breath and making me dizzy with happiness. He deepens the kiss, moaning gently as his tongue touches mine, playing with it, making me forget everything around us.

A muffled cry has him break the kiss though and as he pulls back, his bright eyes are watery and his smile is blinding.

He never for a second takes his eyes off of me as he gently rocks our daughter until she is quiet again.

“You think, she approves?” he croaks out, his voice breaking a little at the end.

I nod silently; I've never been so happy in my entire life, and judging by Benedict's glowing face, he feels the same.

My sight has gone a tad bit blurry around the edges in the past few minutes and suddenly it goes entirety black for a second. It must've shown because I hear Benedict yelp as I slump back into the pillows, trying to catch my breath.

I wave a weak hand at him.

“All good, perhaps just a little much... gimme a second...”

I take a few deep breaths and my view clears again, although it still remains a bit woozy.

Benedict watches me closely and a bit worried.

“You sure?  Want me to call the nurse?”

I shake my head.

“Nah, Just need to lay down...”

He eyes me carefully but nods. He stands and puts our daughter back in her bed; my heart melts as I see how gentle and careful he is. He leans down and brushes a kiss on her forehead, cooing words I can’t hear at her.

And I know, he's going to be a wonderful father – just like everything he does, he will put everything he has into it, and will make sure she won’t lack anything.

While I watch him, my lids grew heavy and I can feel sleep tugging on me.

Then Benedict's by my side again, pulling the duvet over me, stroking my cheek.

“Sleep, Darlin, it was a long day. I'll be here when you wake up.”

I make a noncommittal sound and am asleep a heartbeat later.

*

“So, have you asked her yet?”

“Hmm, well, yes, I did. Not like I planned though, it just…sort of happened.”

“And? What did she say?”

“Uhm... she almost passed out?!”

“Oi, Cumberbatch, can’t you do anything right? Well done, mate, well done...”

Low content chuckles fill the room and I blink my heavy eyes open.

Benedict and Martin sit at the small table by the window, chatting amiably, the bed with our daughter – Seraphine, I remind myself, smiling happily – stands next to them. Benedict has one hand inside and looks all like a proud father could look like.

His gaze falls on me and his smile get even wider; I’m still not sure how it is legal to smile that bright and beautiful but he does and I return it weakly.

“Hey you.. Hope we didn’t wake you,” he says softly and stands to come over.

I shake my head and wave a hand wearily at Martin who only grins back.

I’m still not quite used to having him around.

He's still that telly and movie star to me, which is weird and irrational as Benedict is - or was -  just the same to me, but for some reason it takes time for me to not feel shy when he's there.

“Martin wanted to check on you,” Benedict says lowly as he helps me to sit up and hands me the water glass, “he was worried about you...”

“Well, that and I wanted to make sure that idiot there made it to you without getting run over by a bus or drive into the ditch. He was a complete wreck when he stormed off set,” Martin says teasingly, ducking his head as Benedict glares at him.

“I was worried,” he defends himself but the corner of his mouth twitches amusedly.

Martin only grins and raises an eyebrow at me, winking theatrically which makes me laugh.

“I might have heard some of that over the phone,” I say and now it's my turn to be glared at by Benedict.

“I was worried,” he repeats sternly, pouting a little, which makes us all laugh.

“So,” Martin says, eyeing me friendly, “I've heard congratulations are in order?!”

A hot fire blooms in my chest and involuntarily I search Benedict's eyes who beams wildly at me.

I blush and nod.

“Congratulations,” Martin says softly with a solemn tone in his voice, “he's a very lucky man.”

He glances at Benedict, who's practically bursting with pride before he looks back at me.

“Yeah, very lucky man. You take good care of him.”

I swallow; it feels as if there's more to those few words but as I nod - _hell yeah, I will_ – Martin nods contently and stands.

He walks over to the bed and leans down to hug me gently.

“I'm glad he found you,” he whispers in my ear before he lets go, claps Benedict's shoulder and grabs his jacket.

“Gotta dash, Amanda's waiting to hear the good news. Take care, I’ll see you soon.”

He stops in the doorframe and turns, throwing Benedict a sharp look.

“Oh, and if I’m not Best Man or at least Godfather, I'll be deeply saddened,” he grins before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Benedict rolls his eyes good-naturedly and sits on the bedside, smiling down on me.

We watch each other wordlessly for a moment, just indulging in the knowledge that all of this is real.

Our hands find each other over the duvet, and Benedict lifts mine to press a kiss on my knuckles.

“I love you,” he says softly as he presses another kiss on my left ring-finger, making me shudder as I realize that soon there will be a ring, making me officially his, with everything that comes with that.

He must've seen it; perhaps some of his role has rubbed off on him.

“Any last requests? Cold feet?” he asks, eyes twinkling mischievous.

I shake my head; I've never been surer about anything else in my life.

“Well then, Mrs. Cumberbatch,” he grips my hands tighter as he feels the shiver that ripples through me as he says it, and smiles, “let’s get you back on your feet, we have a wedding to arrange.”

  



End file.
